


Chaos Theory

by afterwit



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, POV Hermann Gottlieb, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-04-18 16:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14217588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterwit/pseuds/afterwit
Summary: The only variable that Hermann struggles to quantify is Newton Geiszler, but he might be able to, if he can gather enough objective data to admit how he feels about him. (Canon fill in, working toward ship but a slow burn, 3rd person omniscient, centered around Hermann)





	1. Chapter 1

Hermann lived by data. Every morning was routine- wake up at the same moment (though not at the same time, he found it far more beneficial to set an alarm to track when he had emerged from deep sleep at or around dawn), eat the same thing (one egg, one piece of buttered toast, black coffee with sugar), wear nearly the same clothes that, if not the same outfits, the same number of layers- socks, underwear, always a jacket or sweater- there was a beautiful sort of completeness to it.

Order. A facade, perhaps, but one of the more important ones that he would allow himself in times of chaos. Hermann was no fool- he knew that rituals like his morning routine were a comforting thing, a bid to put himself in the right mindset and present, for a short while, that there was a sense to things.

He believed there was. There had to be...the only reason the kaiju attacks seemed unpredictable was because he had yet to find the key data to unlock the pattern.

There was only one thing in the universe that Hermann Gottleib felt was beyond order, beyond careful, quantifiable predictions: Dr. Newton Geiszler.

 

* * *

 

It was true that Newton, while perhaps not entirely misleading, was a bit easier to tolerate in large amounts when he was given time to compose and edit his thoughts (though, Hermann suspected, the editing was sparing if at all). He was a brilliant scientist, that part was not debatable, and part of academia meant knowing how to write.

Writing, unfortunately, did not translate to speaking. Certainly, Newton had a certain...gift, for banter and prattle, but Hermann found it disarming, and grating, when they first met.

He preferred not to think about it- how perhaps his letters had given him a medium with which to convey that which was difficult to say, and the inverse was true for Newton. The other man was possessed with a nervous energy, and on their first meeting, Hermann felt much like a pond someone had skipped a stone across.

He did recall, distantly, several months after the brief meeting- prompted by a string of letters where they carried on three conversations at once, one such topic being “perhaps a short visit- a week might be advantageous to us both- that Newton was anxious, excited, pratting on and on...and as the days turned into a week, he became sullen, withdrawn.

It was some time until they met again, a distance bridged with half apologies and explanations that offered no concrete evidence as to why someone would seem so...ideal...on paper, and yet in person be so…

 

* * *

 

The steady scratch and squeak of chalk was centering, calming- the numbers and variables sang when he calculated them, as if he was listening to the music at the heart of the universe. The song of creation, here, in his hands, and he was but a mere listener fumbling to find the right notes.

He reached the end of one line- the edge of the board, and as he balanced himself to slide the board over-

“DING!”

Hermann pursed his lips, frowning in annoyance at the board. He wasn’t going to acknowledge the noises Newton was making- the man didn’t deserve any more positive reinforcement for that behavior.

“Hermann, you know, I mean, we have all these terminals, right? Like… that’s gotta be easier.”

Hermann pressed down with the piece of chalk, nearly bristling at Newton’s familiarty. He was standing right behind him. What would the madman do? Something excited him about the unpredictability...but he raised his chin, glowering at the chalkboard. Had it been something else, something more clear, perhaps he would have enjoyed it. But the implication that he, Hermann, needed things to be “easier” only made him drag his heels in further. How many times had someone, teasingly, remarked about the doctor with a cane?

“If you mean to imply that I am not acting in an efficient manner, you may propose a different process.” He turned, holding a piece of chalk out, pointing into Newt’s face. Expecting to see another taunting, cruel grin, he was disarmed for a moment. Newt seemed curious, but not pitying, and not taunting in the same way he seemed with so many things.

Hermann blinked at him, owlishly, almost taken aback by the simple fact that Newt- Newt!- was attempting to be considerate. He allowed himself a moment, nothing more, before scowling and wagging the chalk at Newt. “We can’t all be madmen slinging about entrails and whatever else you do over there…” And then...the same tone, but softer, less pointed words. “I prefer to feel the data. Perhaps...it would be similar were someone to ask you to only observe from impersonal photographs, rather than…” He turned back to his work, waving a hand, almost dismissively, at Newt’s side of the room- metal tables and various samples in what he could only hope was some semblance of order.

Perhaps that, too, he hadn’t found the formula for just yet.

Behind him was a soft “huh” followed by a sarcastic. “Is that what you’re doing, dissecting the universe?” The tone was almost mocking, but more playful than acid, and perhaps Hermann was getting better with reading those cues.  
Newton was good at that, he’d noticed- setting up something as a soft of conversational back and forth. The tones were often harsh, the words confrontational, but both had been in academia for so long that debate, even intense and loud, was more of a sport like fencing than a fight to wound.

Hermann smiled, looking at his half-full chalkboard. “Hmm, yes, that would be precisely it, Newton. Perhaps in fifteen more years of working with me and you’ll be able to pull your head out of a kaiju backside and actually manage simple algebra.”

The rest of the day passed with relative calm and quiet- though to anyone passing outside of the lab, it would have sounded like they were arguing, as they always did. The constant back and forth, bickering without venom, had become something akin to background noise for the both of them. Newt would say something, Hermann would respond dispassionately, if loudly, Newt would bark a laugh, reply with something sarcastic and inane, and after several hours of this, most of the other staff would be filing to the mess hall for shift change.

Newt, to his credit, was usually good at pulling Hermann out of his numbers and making sure the man actually ate. It was a terrible habit of his- at one point during his years as a lecturer he’d fainted in front of a hall full of students after spending nearly 8 hours entirely absorbed in fine-tuning the rotation rate of Saturn. After that, he’d been assigned a graduate student as an “assistant”, but he never did much care for people who could be admiring and patronizing at the same time. Ah, yes! Dr. Gottleib, the man who hobbles around and needs someone to mind that he doesn’t hurt himself, the poor fragile thing.

At least Newt never had that tone. Nor did he ever insist that Hermann was strong despite his obvious disability. Newton had asked him, once, after halfway surmising the issue with his leg was related to the reason his hands ached after writing for hours- an old injury that was never able to heal due to connective tissue issues. Hermann had explained, once, and they’d left it at that. An understanding was reached, facts were shared, no further explanation was needed.

“Hermann!” A tray was set in front of him, cheap flatware rattling against the metal, and Hermann startled, blinking at the tray and frowning at Newt, who was already sitting beside him. Sideways, of course, one leg slung over each side of the table bench in a way that was both carefully planned and meant to look casual.

Newt did that a lot, he’d observed. Each motion was almost practiced, and despite looking sloppy and careless, and, he supposed, cool, Newton was far too intelligent to simply be stumbling into the persona of a scientist by day, rockstar by night. Newt knew he was consciously crafting an image, and it both grated on Hermann and fascinated him.

“Come on, man, we’ve got pasta with real cheese and chicken tonight.” Newt was already shoving the aspirational attempt at chicken alfredo in his mouth, and though it was only a rough imitation of the dish, Hermann did appreciate that even this was a luxury few could afford.

He showed this, the way he did with all things- frowning at it softly before slowly trying to assemble the wet noodles into a shape that wouldn’t dribble all over his tie.

“Okay, so, earlier, you said working together for fifteen more years, do you really think it’ll take that long?” Newt spoke around bites of food, and sometimes through them, though covering his mouth as if to excuse the thing he had no control over.

“I…” Hermann pursed his lips. “I’m not entirely sure. I sort of just threw the number out there. I doubt so...with the rate the attacks are increasing, it’s likely that we’ll all be gone in fifteen years.” Sobering, and anyone else might have told him to have hope, or any other pithy responses to what they saw as a fatalist streak.

Newt thought about that for a moment. “Alright, dude. Here’s the deal- what about, when we make it that fifteen years, you can teach me how to work differential equations?”

Hermann scoffed, pressing a rough cloth against his mouth- some sort of shop towel repurposed into napkins by way of cutting it into quarters- and swallowed down the somehow simultaneously squishy and firm noodles. “I’m not a miracle worker, Newton. You put far too much faith in me.”

Newt laughed, resting a hand on his thigh- his jeans dirty and in need of a wash, but laundry wasn’t scheduled for two more days, and his clothing needed to be handled separately in order to not contaminate the other clothes with preservation chemicals and biohazardous waste. The other hand he pointed at Hermann, holding it out. “It’s a bet, dude. I think you can get us there. You gotta meet me halfway. We win, we figure out how to stop these bad boys, and you have to teach me trig. We lose, and you’ve got nothing to worry about, my dude.”

Hermann frowned, softly. It was just like Newton to make a joke like that, wasn’t it? But the nihilism was, in some way, amusing. Defiant. He’d been locked into a bet that he couldn’t admit was lose/lose, because both sides had a strangely positive outcome, when framed that way.

He raised his chin, smiling. “Alright, then.” He slid his hand- cold, hesitant- into Newt’s. “You have a deal. I hope you can master secondary school math by the time we put this business all behind us.”

Newt’s hands were like him- a bit too warm, his grip was strong to being nearly overpowering, and he shook Hermann’s hand (which Hermann self-consciously regarded as somewhat of a dead fish as he watched the gesture), then pulled back and took a drink of water. “It’s a deal! You got the easy part.”

Hermann might have, had it not been for time, considered that as a put-down, a sarcastic remark meant to minimize his work...but he knew that was simply the way of things, with Newton.

Perhaps that was the first rule to the problem of Dr. Newton Geiszler- at times, despite what the man might say, the truth of what he believes is the direct inverse of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bit more ready to go, but I'm hoping to cover the events leading up to the first movie, and then the aftermath immediately following! Also, because of the retconning within the canon, Vanessa will not be included in this series. Characters will be tagged as they appear in the text.


	2. Chapter 2

Days passed without incident, time feeling like a levee against the approaching certainty of another attack. He had to have faith- not in a miracle, which was only an improbable event happening and not a divine favor, but in his calculations. In so, he had faith in himself, in the order of things, in the concept that perhaps there was mercy in the universe.

And so, one day passed, then two, forgettable days quickly shuffled out of his long-term memory by way of routine, blending into a stretch of background noise. Hermann had to trust in the certainty of his predictions. Some thought of them as witchcraft, as if he were an oracle of sorts, trying to divine the future. Perhaps, he was, but only by way of numbers, of solid data. Numbers were not nearly so dramatic as smoke and mirrors and entrails- they were far more elegant, if as ethereal and divine.

Between fine-tuning the numbers, Hermann provided consulting analysis on training simulations and calculations for the planned Mach 5 Jaegers. The design phase for those, in comparison to the Mach 4s currently ending production, seemed arduously long. In the interest of precision, though he was not an engineer, Hermann could offer numbers for consideration that would eventually be integrated into the design.

Though he’d never quite made it to where he envisioned as a child, Hermann did find it somewhat evocative of early space exploration, before there were machine computers. When people, like him, were the computers, and their data and math, their numbers, took the human race to the moon.

His focuses were, not necessarily regrettably, but only in contrast, more terrestrial.

That levee- the numbers he had calculated holding back against the next attack- held. Hermann felt, by the approach of the second week, as if he were mentally pushing back against an unstoppable force. Almost like Sysiphus, he mused, rolling his boulder only to have the numbers relent, an attack occur, and to begin again.

Each time forward, he was a bit more certain. When he began, his margin of error was a several month window.

The last attack he had within a window plus or minus a day.

His numbers, which were impartial, and could not lie to him, told him that they had another week.

 

* * *

 

“HERMANN!!!” Metallic clanging as Newt knocked, loudly, on his door. “Hermann!”

This was what dragged him from his carefully planned rest- a sudden ruckus outside his room, observed first with confusion- was he in England? No, China, and that was Newton- and then annoyance- that was Newton- and then a stab of panic- he had three days before the event window, this was China, and that was Newton, banging on his door and yelling for him.

What if he’d been wrong? What if it was urgent?

Hermann threw back his covers, stumbling from his bed, catching himself on the wall and swearing softly. “Newton! One moment!” He fumbled for his glasses and shuffled, socks on, to the unlatch the door. Hermann braced himself for a rush of people- mechanics and technicians rushing to prepare for a drop.

Instead, he opened the metal door to his small quarters to find...Newt.

He was both relieved and annoyed.

“Hermann! There you are!” Newt swayed, pitching forward with a strangled yelp but catching himself, if clumsily. “Woah! Sorry, dude…”

Hermann rubbed his face, sighing. “Newton, have you been drinking the...I suppose one can only liken it to prison hooch, it’s not nearly proper drink.”

Newt looked up at him, braced against the door. “Uh, yeah. I brought you...h-hold on.”

Hermann frowned, deeply, holding the door to close it in Newt’s face the moment he tried to offer a bottle of the cloudy swill.

“Here, dude. I...There’s gambling den in the bone slums, I uhh.” He paused, shaking his head. “Figured, you might…” Newt pulled a small, red velvet pouch from his leather jacket, and Hermann took it, frowning at it, albeit with curiosity.

“What is it?”

“You gotta open it up, my man.” Newt absolutely reeked of alcohol, but despite that, his speech seemed only slightly worse for it. Not quite slurring, but almost as if the edges weren’t entirely defined.

“Hmm. Very well…” He took a cautious sniff of the bag, almost expecting...something. The cloying smell of fruit liqueur? The smell of damp from the rain? It almost crunched in his hand, rustling dryly. Inside, the curls of tea leaves were deep, smoky black, dotted with white streaks reminiscent of the night sky somewhere decidedly not Hong Kong. “Smoked tea?” Hermann furrowed his brow, blinking at Newt, who started off smiling roguishly, but quickly looked...almost concerned, as Hermann didn’t smile and thank him. He sputtered briefly, self-conscious again at how Newt looked taken aback, and he could not bring himself to be as effusive as he wished. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, Newton, I simply...I don’t understand. This is for...me?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, you always...I remember, uhh, back in...when I visited, I mean, I told you that…” Newt seemed to be floundering, his face falling as he gestured, looking away from Hermann, who he had been previously watching for even a twitch in the corner of his lips, a hint of a smile.

“You didn’t care for it, as I recall.” A quite mild way of putting it.

“Yeah, well, I mean, maybe it’s an acquired taste or whatever, I just needed time to get an…” He took in a gulp of air. “...appreciation for it, yeah?” He squinted at Hermann, mouth open and nose wrinkling. “Is it alright? I kinda gambled a lot for it.”

Hermann looked down at the bag, already planning on how he would carefully ration the tea. He nodded his head in a soft bow. Gifts were few and far between, and Hermann could barely remember the last time someone had given him one simply out of kindness. For Newton, the choice was oddly considerate, but he couldn’t quite express what he was feeling...and even if he could decide exactly how he felt, it was likely that he would simply stumble over his words and frustrate them both in the process.

“It’s…” In the end, he bobbed his head, holding it against his chest. “...very good, thank you.”

“Cool. So I guess that’s…a goodnight?” Newt raised his eyebrows, smiling a bit carelessly and almost lilting the last words.

“That’s a goodnight, Newton. You’re quite inebriated.”

“Aw, come on, man! I’m fine! I wrote my third dissertation with more booze than this!”

“The details of you being a functional drunk do not concern me, Newton. Thank you, goodnight.” He couldn’t find it in him to truly be angry with Newt, and had to admit the gesture was...kind, and unexpected.

“I can’t believe you’re standing me up!” Newt seemed perhaps five parts bravado and one part disappointed, but there was no heat to his complaining. Hermann knew...he could easily offer Newt a place to rest, but one thing becomes another, and despite the fact that Newton was certainly...he supposed some might find him charming, handsome, even, fascinating and cute in the way that an unfortunate animal like a hairless dog might be…

Hermann grunted, shifting his weight awkwardly to close the heavy door. “Goodnight, Newton. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter that's canned and then updates will be a bit slower from 4 and on!


	3. Chapter 3

Perhaps Newt _was_ thankful for his discretion the night before, but he never said it.  In fact, by the next morning, it was as if the incident had never happened at all. Newt didn’t seem any worse for the wear, and Hermann had to note, with a hint of concern, that Newt had seemed to simply move from alcohol to caffeine.  He’d seen the case report, of course, but one didn’t need to see a psychological write-up to note that some days Newt seemed possessed with a sense of urgency, and others he simply excused himself as “tired”.

At least Hermann had never seen Newt turn to harder substances...but he knew well enough that, were it not a clandestine sort of thing, the possibility was likely that it had happened in his younger years.

He knew, as well, that all men had their vices, and despite the drinking and the frankly obscene amount of coffee Newt consumed, he produced results.

Hermann glanced up from his papers at his desk, eyeing the metal coffee mug on his desk.  It wasn’t his- the surface had sheet music etched on it, though none he recognized. Newt had suggested it be left here, and Hermann relented after Newt agreed to leave it in a designated place- a rubber coaster on the corner of Hermann’s desk.

To some, an odd concession, but Hermann pursed his lips in half a smile looking at it.  The day Newt had suggested it was after a long shouting match, the result of Newt winding up in the infirmary for potentially ingesting contaminated coffee.  “I mean yeah, maybe, I almost took a swig from the wrong cup, alright? I didn’t swallow!” Hermann had suggested it, at the time, in the interests of efficiency- Kaiju remains were not allowed on his side of the lab, and the infirmary trip had not only affected Newt’s productivity, but his own as well.

He refused to admit at the time that...despite their rocky start, he’d grown fond of Newt.  The idea of the perpetual annoyance being an accidental death before the war was over simply would not do.  Not that he’d admit it.

Newt always snapped his gloves after peeling them off, slingshotting them into a biohazardous waste bin.  “Alright, I got it.”

“Hmm?”  Hermann looked at him, over his glasses, one hand on his face.

“You need a break, right?  I mean, you’re...let’s the real, Hermann, you’ve been on edge all week.  You’re not even bothering to tell me off for sitting on your desk anymore.”

Hermann realized, belatedly, that Newt had sat on the corner of his desk, facing away from him.  “I simply have more pressing things to bother with, Newton, I’m certain you can appreciate that.”

“Really?  ‘Cause it looks to me like you’re reading uhhh…’Bullshit Busy Work’?  That’s what you called it last week, yeah? Come on, Hermann.”

Hermann glowered at him, sinking into his chair and raising the papers up higher to block out his view of Newt, who continued, as he always did.  Newt's silhouette on the papers waved its arms as he spoke.

“So what we’re gonna do, there’s a nice spot, kinda quiet, we can g-”

Hermann barely had time to process the fact that Newt was proposing...a night out?  As soon as the thought occurred to him, a loud alarm started blaring over the intercom, interrupted by the very familiar voice of Tendo Choi.

Hermann lowered the papers, slowly rising and listening to the announcement, mostly a drone of information that passed through him.

_A Category Three Kaiju has been spotted off the coast of…...codename…...prepare for…._

He shook back his sleeve, looking down at his antique wristwatch, the second hand ticking away

“I was right.”  He looked over at Newt, dropping the papers on the floor.  “My calculations were correct.”

Newt looked a bit stunned, and then, with practiced irreverence: “Guess we’ll hold off on karaoke for tonight.”

 

* * *

 

As it happened, it was a pause on all events for the next two weeks.  Not on Marshall’s orders, no. Hermann had work to do, and Newt had new “toys” as Hermann called them, dismissively, though he was nearly fascinated with how a man who was so reckless and careless could focus his boundless energy in one place.  Newt prepared specimens for study with an odd, intense level of care that anyone who never saw him outside of a lab environment might not even think possible. That was, perhaps, one of the strangest things about the man. He balanced on a blade’s edge of scientific fascination and almost reverence.

Hermann understood, at some level, what that was like.  He trusted that Newt would keep himself grounded, not get lost in the save fervor that dragged in kaiju cultists...he only hoped that trust was not misplaced.

Two weeks of numbers, two weeks of odd silence from Newt, two weeks of the scientists orbiting each other but never quite coming into contact.  Their star- the same quest for the facts, the data, the theory that would be the solution to saving the human race.

That was the way of things, for the past few years, it seemed.  Hermann didn’t believe in fate, exactly- he believed in probabilities, in logical paths to take, in risk/benefit choices.  He did, however, have to admit there was something...curious about it. Romantic, perhaps, not in the traditional sense, but in the artistic sense of...idealizing the everyday.  For better or worse, he and Newton seemed to cross paths and intersect despite the odds…

...and at times like this, it nearly made things tolerable.  They were complimentary in a way- one loud, one quiet, one driven by passion, the other by solid logic.  Where Newton saw beauty in life, in the way only a biologist could be in awe of the messiness of it all, Hermann saw beauty in the way things could be quantified, understood, and explored.  Chaos and order, riotous life and the nonliving forces that directed it all.

They were, together, two halves of the known universe...in an odd way.


	4. Chapter 4

“Listen, all I’m saying is that everyone’s gloomy as hell, alright? So I think like, not even a full day, alright? Like not even a half day. Like two hours, okay? And, and! If anything happens, we’ll be in the bays and everyone can mobilize fast.”

Newt was speaking with his hands- he always did, like the words had more weight to others that way- to slightly less dispassionate than usual Marshall.

Stacker Pentecost was someone Hermann appreciated, and respected, as a former RAF pilot. Hermann had long grown past the jealousy he felt for pilots, though it had taken far more years than he’d care to admit, and Stacker was a calm, if intimidating man. The few times he was able to speak with him about flying, the Marshall was honest, but without the bravado that many pilots had. Hermann appreciated him in ways he wasn’t comfortable voicing, and he hoped his loyalty to the cause, his respect and long hours, said what he never could.

The Marshall was also a man that some found intimidating, stoic, but Hermann could read him fairly enough. His expression was neutral, his brows relaxed, one foot in front of the other, arms crossed loosely. Even these small openings, from a military man, spoke volumes.

“Dr. Gottleib.”

Hermann almost startled, self-conscious if he’d been caught staring, and he sat up a bit straighter, giving a salute almost out of habit. “Sir!”

Newton scoffed as Marshall Pentecost turned his attention away, sarcastically mock-saluting at Hermann behind the Marshall.

“Your colleague here has proposed a bit of a morale event. A concert with other members of the Shatterdome.” Newton inhaled behind him, as if to launch into a protest, but the Marshall raised one hand, and even Newt had the sense to hold his words. “What do you think?”

Hermann glanced between the two, and then furrowed his brows, frowning. “I hardly see what my input matters on that...” Newton was gesturing behind the Marshall, clasping his hands, mouthing at Hermann ‘bitte’ over and over again. “...but.”

Newton stopped his pantomimed begging, jerking back as if he was just hit, surprised. The Marhshall smiled a bit- mostly in the eyes, one brow raised just a bit. “But?”

“But...such events can be good for the group. Ah, that is, a small reprieve in what is, at the moment, a seemingly unending task...psychologically speaking, of course-”

The Marshall nodded. “Of course.” Continue.

“Ah, that is to say...it may even be beneficial. To the group. To have a sort of a...moment of normalcy, as it were. We are quite a motley crew and, I suppose, music is a sort of...universal language, and often less passing than, say, a material incentive like extra food or something of the like. Music cannot be seen as a waste, as it is immaterial.” Many such events were declined, or requested to be held between a small group. Even the Marshall and his two children were no exception to the rule- the PPDC was not a place for anything but sacrifice.  They could afford decent rations, but anything beyond that or seen as frivolous was often scrutinized- if not by the commanding officers, then by the crews and coworkers.

But time was immaterial. You could assign a value to it, but the truth was that if an event was scheduled during a time that was normally used for recreation or after-hours “catch up”, it wasn’t a stretch of time with many widely assigned tasks. Even the shift workers in J-Tech, who had rotating shifts for systems monitoring could appreciate the music broadcast to their consoles.

The Marshall nodded softly, considering, and turned back to Newt, who was prepared to unleash another torrent of words. He raised one finger, then another, and then another. “Three stipulations. Dr. Geiszler. Music only, no words.” He lowered one finger. “You will supply all of your own equipment, and will do this with approval but no budget.” And a final one. “You will be limited to a total of two hours for setup and tear-down. Am I clear?”

Newt blinked, looking up at the Marshall, then Hermann, and then at the Marshall again. “Uh...y-yeah, yeah I can work with that, no problem! Saturday alright?”

Marshall Pentecost inclined his head in approval. “I will be away then, with Ms. Mori and others in leadership as my backup.” He turned to look at Hermann. “Between the two of you, I hope to see a recording of the event when I return.”

Hermann almost, almost, reflexively saluted, but managed to turn it into a stiff, awkward wave as the Marshall nodded his head, leaving the lab. He wasn’t certain why him...or whether the recording was to monitor them or to capture a rare moment of peace...and maybe even happiness.

Knowing the Marshall, it was likely a bit of both.

Newt looked almost stunned, and he looked at Hermann as if confused, as if seeing something about him for the first time. “Hey...thanks, man.”

Hermann twitched his lips- as if fixing them and uncertain whether to smile, frown, or sneer. He wanted, desperately, to protest, but he couldn’t make his face quite settle into a withering frown. “I would be unable to abide your sulking were you not given the approval.” He turned back to his paperwork, raising it over his face to obscure himself.

Newt smiled, just a bit, nodding and pursing his lips. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks for doing me a solid.”

Hermann managed a “hmm” behind the papers, and that was all the reply that Newton was to get.

Newt seemed more than content to furiously message the other members of the improptu band, muttering things to himself as he carried bins of Kaiju entrails about the lab. He was definitely restless, but in an excited, pleased way. Hermann gave a cursory protest, obligatory muttering about how Newton should watch where he’s slopping about intestines, but even though he noticed a few pieces straying onto his side of the lab, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to yell at Newt.

He was, admittedly, a bit of a wet blanket. A killjoy. Among other words that people had used for him...but he was also aware of how rare and fleeting moments of happiness like this were. It was almost peaceful, if only for a few days. Newt’s odd, restless excitement was nearly contagious.

Would that this was all their lives were- just research, no looming end of the world, just the two of them pursuing their own truths together- it would be nearly idyllic. There was something odd about the effect that Newt had on him- he wasn’t certain what to say of it. When Newton was in a gloomy, entirely foul mood (which did happen, fairly frequently, though Newt would protest that he was always having the time of his life), it bothered Hermann, as well. When Newt was happy, Hermann almost felt contentment bleeding into his own life.

Hermann sat awake that night in his mostly bare room, resting against enough pillows to hold his body comfortably when he was too tired to force his joints to stay in place. He tilted his head to the side, his neck cracking loudly, and he let out a soft “ugh” before yawning and leaning back. Newton had shown up one day with three of the pillows tucked under his shirt, vacuum-sealed and looking like a lumpy approximation of a pot belly. He was like that, at times- vexing and thoughtful, but in the next moment careless and rude.

Perhaps it was simply the close proximity, that when Newt was happy, he would hum and sing and whistle...and when he was upset, he would glower and clatter his tools around. Maybe that was it, simply that Newton could make their shared space more peaceful or annoying. Hermann was certainly not someone who would consider himself empathetic by any stretch of the imagination, and the idea that Newt of all people could be rubbing off on him was preposterous.

There was, of course, one way to see… Hermann knew where to find the data. Both of them had to undergo cursory psychological evaluations, and he of course knew of the work of Dr. Lightcap…

He covered his face with a hand, rubbing his eyes as if to force the idea away. He needed to sleep, not stay awake with his mind fussing at a problem.

The idea of him and Newton being compatible in any way was, honestly, preposterous. Hermann of course appreciated the inner workings of the drift, and he enjoyed the idea of there being someone- anyone- who would fit with him.

But much like piloting, he had long since made peace with the fact that finding that person would be rare, if they even existed at all.

He shifted in bed, sliding down and taking pillows to form something like bumpers around himself, with two between his legs, two under his head, two behind him, one against his chest… he knew that some of the crew here would consider this amusing, if not a frivolous excess. The strong and ever-stubborn Hermann Gottleib, roughly imitating the princess and the pea every night.

He reached up, tapping a box on the wall to turn out the lights in his bunk, but he still felt like his mind was fixated on this issue. He rolled over, muttering under his breath and tightening his grip on the pillow at his chest, squeezing it in frustration and glowering over it at the bare concrete wall.

Checking their files would be folly at best, the sort of folly he had long learned to not bother entertaining. It was best to be alone, in many ways, and observe from a distance, as a scientist does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slowness of this update...I've been very busy this week and even though this one was mostly done, it was hard to find the time to finish it up! Next week should be a bit more back to a normal speed with 2~ish a week. Thank you so much for the kudos and kind comments thus far! I have a fair bit planned for this, and the feedback is encouraging!


	5. Chapter 5

Hermann put off pulling his and Newt’s files for three days. As he was the only man who could convince himself to do anything – stubborn, willful – he was also his own greatest hindrance. He knew waiting to look into their files would only gnaw at him, and that it would be only a matter of time before he knew his refusal to do so was childish and silly.

So, three days, he planned to retire to his room, take some tea before bed… he was frowning into a rough, hand-thrown mug, watching the errant tea leaves sloshing against the bottom, when he finally signed, muttering a curse under his breath. Fuck this. Fuck Newton. Fuck all of it, and especially fuck himself for being so petulant and stubborn.

He stood, slipping on his shoes, putting on a loose cardigan, buttoning the top button of his collar, and grabbed his cane.

* * *

The records were simple enough to access, but the control systems limited them to being accessed from designated consoles...and Hermann felt the need to pick a place with relative privacy. He wasn’t certain what it was, maybe a simple desire for no one to see his personal information, maybe something more. He could nearly picture Tendo creeping up on him and looming over his shoulder, telling him that maybe he and Newt should just fuck and make everyone else’s lives better. He and Tendo never quite saw eye to eye on how to handle personal issues. That wasn’t to say he disliked Tendo- he actually quite liked him- but there were a few ways Hermann perhaps looked at him in a poor light.

For this reason, Hermann settled down in a cramped corner of the records storage facility (barely more than a 4 meter by 4 meter room filled with old print resources and drives for accessing digital media, sorted into bins), where one records console was normally unused. It was a bit of a walk, but thankfully by this point most people knew better than to try and engage Dr. Gottleib for small talk- at best he might frown at them, at worst he might aggressively argue with them on small, mundane points, and make himself so unpleasant they were wont to repeat that mistake.

The room- cramped, dim, cracked concrete walls, makeshift bins and shelving lit mostly by sickly low-power green-white LED lights mounted near the ceiling- was unoccupied, as he suspected, and so he settled into place on the stool in front of the console, propping his cane against the desk.

This was foolish, downright stupid, even, but he still scooted the wheels against the painted concrete floor, pulling himself up to the desk.

Hermann typed on the pad in front of the console, pulling up the psychological evaluations of both himself and Newton. He knew what he’d find in his- willful, stubborn, risk-adverse, quick to turn on those in authority if he disagreed with their chosen course, with notes for others that he was best left to manage himself and disliked being told what to do- Hermann prized efficiency, and could manage himself more efficiently than anyone else could.

Newton’s was similar in some ways, but different- he was also one to challenge authority, but because he was fond of taking risks that others could see as reckless. He also disliked being told what to do, though this was less because he was good at managing himself and more because he was rebellious, and worked best when given room for creativity. Any leadership that attempted to make Newton do tasks he didn’t see justification for, or that bored him, would likely find him to be extremely contrary and entirely difficult.

Hermann rested his elbow against the desk, propping his head up in his hand. On paper, there was something almost roguish about Newton.

The rest of the pages weren’t extremely engaging- medication reports, a medical history, details of Hermann’s joint issues and a precaution to not assign him work that might cause physical strain and “exertion-related joint dislocations”. The final two pages were where Hermann wanted to look, but he almost found himself afraid to. What would he find? What wouldn’t he? What was he hoping for? He wasn’t certain. He murmured to himself- _get yourself together, Hermann, you’re being childish_ \- and finally flipped to the final pages of the reports.

He skimmed the lines, looking for the conclusion, a few words that would either confirm his deepest fears or his greatest hopes. Seeing confirmation there would possibly be both- a chance at putting behind himself a long history of loneliness, and also the knowledge that there was a human being who, simply by existing, could break through all of his carefully-constructed distance between himself and humans. And Newton, of all people!

Hermann let out a shaky breath, looking through the report. Two paragraphs from the end, there it was, in both of their files:

>   _Predictive modeling based on the currently available data of both Dr. Hermann Gottleib and Dr. Newton Geiszler suggest a high probability of drift compatibility, in the upper 93rd percentile (pilot baseline: 92, J-Science staff baseline: 71). Though they are J-Science staff, this suggests they may be willing to cooperate with each other and work collaboratively in a shared environment despite apparent differences. The figures here are based on rough modeling for non-pilot staff, for informational purposes only, and it is advised that more thorough tests be run should a drift exercise be required, as preliminary modeling can potentially deviate plus or minus 10 percentile points from “real world” exercises. Preliminary findings suggest Dr. Geiszler is more suited for alignment with a right hemisphere, and Dr. Gottlieb for left._

Hermann wanted to read more, but what he was reading made his stomach go cold, his heart twist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant but that he didn’t care for. The words began to blur together, the same words repeating in his mind, almost pounding against his skull:

He was right. It was very likely that he and Newt were highly drift compatible…Newton’s moods were likely rubbing off on him, having an effect on him, and… ...he didn’t want to allow himself to think beyond at, at this juncture.

What to do with this information? Was it useful to begin with, or just another thing to trouble him?

* * *

“Gooood morning, sunshine!” Newt swept through the lab, irreverent and overfamiliar as always. “I have another gift for you. And I know what you’re thinking, Newt, my good friend, you give me too many gifts, well…”

Newt pressed his hand against the desk- in it, clattering against Hermann’s desk, a small recorder wrapped in a slip of plain copy paper with a drying and fraying rubber band.

“There you go. The Marshall asked for a recording. And! Because i know you like to be prepared...a set list so you know when you can retreat back to your little cave.”

Hermann looked, blearily, first at the recorder, then at Newt. “Ah. Right.” He’d been in somewhat of a haze since his little adventure into the records closet, his mind buzzing in the way it usually only did with numbers. He had a problem, he found an answer, but the answer only gave him more problems. It wasn’t supposed to work like this.

“You didn’t forget, did you?” Cautiously. “I really hoped you could make it.”

“No, Newton, I did not forget. I hardly could, with how you’ve been flitting about distracted for the past half a week. No, I most certainly did not forget.” Perhaps...that came out a bit more angry than he’d meant.

Newt looked away, nodding, rolling his tongue inside his cheek- he did that often when he was upset- “listen, Hermann, if you don’t wanna go, don’t go. I’d rather you just not go than be there if you don’t want to be.”

Hermann sighed, his shoulders falling a bit. “Newton, that’s not it, I-” He wanted to find the words, but, as always, they eluded him. How could he explain that things between the two of them were growing ever complicated and, in a way, dangerous? “I- er…”

“If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

Hermann sighed. “You’re acting like a child. What do you want me to say, Newton?”

“I don’t know! Something, anything!” He stepped back from the desk, frustratedly grabbing his own hair. “First you want to spend time together, then you don’t, then you want to work together, but then you don’t want that, either. Then today you’re in some kind of mood and...I just…” Newt threw up his hands, dismissively.

“Newton, don’t-” Hermann stood, frowning, and then slammed his hand on his desk as Newt started to walk away from him. Newt startled, and then turned back, looking a bit worried. “Do not take my silence or...my hesitation or inability to speak with you as a sign that I dislike you. It’s...quite frustrating when you assume intent that I don’t have.” He looked down, at his papers, anywhere but at Newt. “If I didn’t care for your company, I could have easily relocated my things, but I am still here.”

Newt bowed his head a bit, bobbing it softly, and he sniffed, wiping his nose as Hermann spoke. His voice was quiet, honest, and raw in a way that tugged at something in Hermann, but that almost annoyed him because of that. “Alright. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“And I, as well.” Hermann closed his eyes, shaking his head. Newt wasn’t the first person to find him cold, difficult, and he knew he wasn’t making this easier for either of them. “I will be there, tonight. I...never intended to miss it.”

Newt said nothing more on it, but he smiled in a way that wasn’t sarcastic and cocky...but grateful, happy, and he nodded before turning and crossing the lab to work on his samples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ROUND 1, FITE.
> 
> Also Hermann is definitely an unreliable narrator when it comes to some people (like in the case of him thinking Tendo is a playboy). next chapter we actually get the concert, finally.


	6. Chapter 6

The turnout was impressive, even for Hermann’s estimations of how fast rumor and news traveled (and it did travel fast- only epidemiological models could forecast how quickly they spread in the Shatterdome) and how sorely the crews needed a reprieve from being constantly on-edge. Hermann shuffled awkwardly to the back of the crowd, standing under one of the crew bays- he craned his neck to look up...looked like this crew liked basketball, and glancing just to the right of the stacked shipping containers, a red monster emblem- ah, right, Crimson Typhoon, that was it…

He fussed with his cardigan, trying to lean against the corrugated metal and find a place that was comfortable, but after a few minutes he finally gave up with a resigned sigh and stood a bit awkwardly in place, both hands resting on his cane, one over the other.

“Didn’t expect to see you out here, man!” Tendo’s voice was warm, a comfortable near-drawl that never seemed to grate on anyone, that Hermann had observed. For their small disagreements, Tendo had the comfortable and reassuring air of...not exactly a father, but an uncle, he supposed.

Tendo ambled over and didn’t offer a hand to shake, nor clap Hermann on the shoulder- but the physical distance wasn’t because they disliked each other- far from it. Tendo knew that Hermann appreciated his company more when he wasn’t forced into awkward, uncomfortable invasions on his personal space.

Tendo _did_ , however, lean against the shipping container with a heavy thud, crossing his arms across his chest and one foot over the other. “Didn’t take you for a music man.”

“Ahh.” Hermann held up the recorder, holding onto his precious alibi with a bit of nervousness. “Marshall’s orders...he wished to see a recording of the event.” In truth, he would have been here even if he wasn’t instructed to be...albeit probably at a much further distance, on the catwalks overhead where no one could see him, ideally.

“Ah, alright.” Tendo nodded, his tone a bit more like “that’s fine, I’ll play along”, and Hermann frowned softly.

“You ever heard them?” He gestured to the small, makeshift stage- a mechanic’s platform with extension cords run out to it for the amps and other equipment...though the setup was spare in general. Two amps, a few small boxes in front of them, the purposes of which he didn’t feel confident assuming, and three microphones. There was little else but a control box to one side.

Hermann shook his head, a bit bewildered, watching Newt direct the setup with excitement but also, oddly, comfortable ease. He recognized the rest of the band and crew, but only in passing. Some of them wore crew jackets and jumpsuits- the Cherno Alpha mechanic setting down a heavy amp was easy to spot, as was the member of the Striker Eureka jump team, here ahead of the Jager’s deployment to prep for the full crew’s arrival.

But the rest...they all clearly knew Newton- they smiled, shook hands, clapped him on the shoulder...there was a lot of joking that he couldn’t catch from his distance, but the laughter carried. They knew him, but Hermann didn’t know who these people were.

Perhaps that was the truth of it- Newton had an entire life that Hermann had no idea about...Hermann had to consider that. Where did Newt go on his adventures into the Bone Slums? Who did he go out gambling and drinking with? Hermann realized, starkly, that his life outside the lab was relatively simple. He left the lab, often late, and retired to his room, alone, to read. Occasionally Tendo or Ms. Mori would invite him to something and nearly half the time he would politely decline the invitation...and even then, those outings were usually quiet, just a small chance to get some fresh air and something to read from the second (and third, and fourth, and fifth)-hand book shop near the Shatterdome.

In comparison, Newt’s life outside the lab must have been different. Friends, music...misadventures and the like, he lived a life of excitement. Hermann felt, almost crestfallen, that he must have seemed quite boring in comparison.

“They’re good. Sometimes you can catch one of their jam sessions...Newt’s on lead guitar, and then you have Katya Chen...she’s the Cherno Alpha mechanic, she’s percussion. Dave Everly, that’s him in the Striker Eureka jumpsuit...he might not perform tonight but I’ve heard him at some of their jam sessions, he’s pretty good with guitar. Their other main guitarist is...uhhh…” Tendo stood on his toes to look over the crowd. “Ah, there, she’s one of mine! J-Tech, you see the lady in the embroidered jacket? That’s Nickie Robbins, she’s from somewhere in Iowa, she can play. And, right next to her, you see the guy fussing with the hookups, that’s their unofficial roadie, he’s one of mine in robotics and security, Tristan O’Malley. He doesn’t really play but he does logistics real well, and he’s got the broadcasting all set. He even managed to whip up a pass-thru for any emergency announcements, just in case.”

Tendo was smiling, fondly. It wasn’t a surprise in the least that he was here, nor that he’d sat in on practice...his staff likely invited him along. The J-Tech crew was almost notorious for their fondness of their commanding officer. Even…

“Mako! Hey!” Tendo bobbed up and down on his toes, waving his arms. Mako stopped in place, she was meandering toward the crowd, frequently halted by friends saying hello. Hermann stiffened a bit, nodding his head at her as she approached.

“They finally pulled you away from that bucket of bolts for a couple of hours?” Tendo thudded back against the container, startling Hermann, who glowered at him.

“She’s nearly complete. We’re expecting the arrival of her pilot in a few days, and after that we’ll begin the copilot selection process.” It was hard to miss how her face lit up when she talked about the Mach III restoration. It started as a pet project, but her enthusiasm was nearly contagious. Even Tendo’s slight rib about Gipsy Danger was more out of endearment.

“You’re gonna be in the pool, right?”

Mako frowned softly. “No...I wish, but, the Marshall has requested other candidates and I’ve been informed to not expect to be among them.” She looked down, but managed a smile, and it didn’t look entirely forced.

Hermann frowned softly. He could suspect why- having been the child of another high-ranking PPDC member, he had to fight his father to be allowed in, and now had to fight him on why he was “on a fool’s errand” and not helping them with the calculations necessary for the coastal wall. “Well, I do hope all of the most suitable candidates are considered, with circumstances as they are.”

Mako smiled, just one side of her mouth, lowering her head a bit. “We will see.”

Hermann knew better than to press the matter. Stacker Pentecost was someone he respected, and while he disagreed with this particular situation as it was, he could understand it. Jake Pentecost had left, the mission ahead was on a need to know basis...but what Hermann did know wasn’t entirely promising. He couldn’t exactly fault a man for not wanting to risk the family that was still with him.

Tendo started in on something... “Well, you kn-”

“Hey everyone! Hey!” ...but he didn’t get very far. Newt’s voice cut across the intercom system- the audio from the mics and instruments rerouted throughout the facility. “We’re already 38 past the hour so we’re just gonna get started! Okay? Cool. This is our first one, it’s called ‘Welcome to Downtown New Dawning’.”

Hermann was a bit confused looking at the set-up, but he fumbled with the recorder so that he wouldn’t miss anything. Newt settled down on...was he sitting on an amp? So was the other guitarist, Nickie. The percussionist, Katya, her fingers taped with duct tape, sat down with a bit of jingling on a large wooden box.

Well, this certainly was informal. Hermann didn’t expect much, based on the humble set-up. It would likely be loud and not much else. Newt pulled an acoustic guitar into his lap- blue-painted wood and electric blue accents, with cords plugged into it...he supposed that explained the other equipment. Nickie’s was similar but plain, sensible black, and Katya, the jingling was apparently from strands of bells tied on one ankle, and the other thigh.

Newt gave them a countdown- 3, 2, 1, and started to slowly, almost hesitantly, pick out notes, quickly gaining tempo. Nickie joined him...they had clearly done something with the set-up, the guitar notes reverberated, stretching out after they were made, almost haunting. Katya joined in quickly, drumming her taped fingers against the box (her instrument, apparently? How curious!).

Before too long, all three of them were bobbing along with the music, the song quickly speeding along. There were no lyrics, per the Marshall’s requests- nor did they need any, the music was honest, soulful, beautiful and haunting with only the three of them. Any lyrics, any other musicians, would have spoiled it, he felt. Hermann was watching in nothing short of surprise, and awe. Newt was so focused, and yet...he had rarely seen him look so happy and at peace despite how animated he looked up there, leaning forward as he strummed chords. It was impressive, for certain, but also…

He had never truly understood Newton. He thought the rock star persona was just that- a motif. A look, and nothing more. Oh, certainly, Newt said he played guitar (and piano, and bass, and nearly any other thing he could get his hands on), but Hermann thought it was only a hobby and not, well…

Watching Newt on stage, he was pleasantly surprised. He was good. Not just good in a general sense, no, but he finally understood something about Newton. This was a man who, at one point in his life, had to make a conscious choice, and what Hermann saw on stage now was that truth. Newton didn’t go into sciences because it would have been simple, because music was only a hobby. He had to make a conscious decision between two paths- music that he was skilled at enough to certainly be a professional, with the potential to be a star, even, and the science that they both believed would save the human race.

Music was a hobby, now, to Newt, but that was only because his study of the kaiju was so necessary. He played with no less passion and devotion than Hermann had seen him put into anything else.

His expression softened, and he realized he’d nearly lowered the recorder, rapt with wonder at not just listening, but watching the three of them. Hermann fumbled to lift it back up a bit, glancing sidelong to make sure that no one had seen that. Tendo and Mako, thankfully, were looking ahead, talking to each other, excitedly pointing out little things in the performance.

Which meant that Hermann was able to watch in relative peace as the three kept playing, Newt smiling and nodding at the two women on either side of him, familiar, appreciative. It was clear the three of them, despite the circumstances that had caused all of them to be collected in one place, were making the best of the situation.

It was like that for all of them, wasn’t it? Small things to make slightly more bearable the fact that they were giving up so much. What had Hermann given up? His family, for the most part- his father only argued with him now and the rest of them largely regarded him as having launched off into danger to fight in an already lost cause. In truth...he hadn’t given up much else. Perhaps that was why life here wasn’t much worse than anywhere else. He had a home presumably waiting for him, but there was no harm in leaving it for a few years. His tenured position could wait, and he’d likely have several offers to pick from if he decided to go back after this was all over. He was a simple man, and though his humble lifestyle was not out of necessity like some, he never wanted for material things or comforts that weren’t necessary. It wasn’t that he was austere, exactly, not in a cruel and self-punishing way. Hermann simply didn’t want for very much at all.

Now that he thought about it, even here, the few comforts he had here were gifts from Newton.

But what of the rest of them? Ms. Mori was likely similar to him, with little but the Shatterdome and those within it, but Tendo, he knew, had family and friends waiting for him.

Hermann had...this. And Newt, he supposed, but what was Newt giving up in return?

The trio played six more songs after that- Katya occasionally clapped her hands out at the audience, inviting them to join with them. Newt, faithful to his word, announced each song title- the final, “Into the Breach”, was almost...sad? No. Wistful. Hopeful, even. Newt closed his eyes, murmuring along as he played, and something about it pulled at Hermann. It was...beautiful, he supposed, in a way.

Perhaps he’d have to ask Newt to play for him, sometime. That wasn’t too forward, was it? Oh, heavens, was he already treading down that dark path? Considering if requests were proper, or if they were too emotionally intimate?

The final song ended with cheering, Tendo and Mako ducking in front of Hermann to make faces and leave greetings for the Mashall on the recording while Hermann awkwardly held the camera in one hand. Thankfully, if either of them noticed his smiling, or uncharacteristically unguarded, staring at Newton, neither of them mentioned it expressly.

Tendo did give him a “I told you he was good” and a wink before disappearing into the crowd, without giving Hermann a chance to protest.

He wanted to give this more time, perhaps to get to know Newton better- was that alright? Perhaps it was. He wasn’t certain what he wanted.

Hermann never quite got the chance to figure out what exactly he wanted. There were drinks and celebrations that night, and he didn’t care to be a killjoy at those. What could he, a dour and boring old man, contribute? In the end, Hermann did what he always did- kept to routine and left things as they were. He went to bed, slept, and woke the next morning like everything was the same. What else could he have done?

He didn’t get to really contemplate it for very long. The next morning was already Sunday, December 29, 2024. Hermann had little time to ponder “what ifs” that did not pertain directly to the kaiju, not when his numbers told him to expect another on the first of the new year.

* * *

History would document what happened after Mutavore’s landfall, Leatherback and Otachi following. The breakthroughs, the risks, the gains and the losses around the last part of the war against the kaiju.

Newton and Hermann would be lauded in the scientific community- Newton was a daredevil, almost like a test pilot in the early days of the space program. Hermann was regarded as a man who unraveled the secrets of another world, who looked into numbers and saw beyond the very fabric of our universe.

Outside of that, he knew that he and Newton would be little more than a footnote, two to three sentences in a history textbook. They weren’t nearly as interesting to most of the public as the jaeger pilots who had fought in the war.

That was fine, almost preferable, even. Hermann had other matters to focus on after the breach was sealed- press tours would only be a distraction from the puzzle that had troubled him for some time now.

The resolution of the war, the things he had to do in order to resolve it, only added complications to his problem named Newton Geiszler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap for Part 1! I will not be covering the events of the film here, but the next chapter will pick up directly after the first film ends, considering the events of the second. I used the generally-agreed on landing date for Jan 1, 2025 for Mutavore, but I know that canon is inconsistent on this fact. The other minor characters here are OCs...I felt like it would work better to have Hermann facing that he doesn't really know Newt's personal life rather than trying to put more familiar canon characters up there. I based the performance largely off of street performance groups like City of the Sun if you want a reference point to check out!


	7. [Part 2]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here, we have a short jump ahead to right after the events of Pacific Rim! Going through and documenting the movie from one side isn't something I really want to do, so I'm jumping ahead to the meat. Thank you for sticking with me thus far! I hope the drift sequences I write aren't too confusing- Hermann's thoughts are in brackets, Newt's in parentheses. I'm going to try and keep those short and at the start, but if there's any trouble with readability, let me know.

“HERMANN!!!” “Hermann!”

[ _Panic, confusion. What if he’d been wrong?_ ](Hope, excitement, please, please, please...)

(Relief.) “Hermann! There you are!” (Holy shit, falling.) “Woah! Sorry, dude…”

“Newton, have you been drinking the...I suppose one can only liken it to prison hooch, it’s not nearly proper drink.”

(Please don’t be upset. Please. Please like this.) “Uh, yeah. I brought you...h-hold on.” (I hope this is okay.)

“Here, dude. I...There’s gambling den in the bone slums, I uhh.” (Why is this so difficult. Please stop looking at me like that.) [ _Like what?_  ](Upset, angry, I don’t like that.) “Figured, you might…” (I don’t like it when you look at me like that. Please take this.)

“What is it?”

“You gotta open it up, my man.” (Please like this. Please. It’s a small thing but you never give yourself anything. Please let me show you you deserve it.)

“Hmm. Very well…” (Cautious. It’s good, right? Right? Why aren’t you smiling?) “Smoked tea?” [ _Why did you give me this? I don’t dislike it, but…_ ] (You’re supposed to be happy. I wanted to do something nice for you.) “I’m sorry, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, Newton, I simply...I don’t understand. This is for...me?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, you always...I remember, uhh, back in...when I visited, I mean, I told you that…” (Don’t make me explain it. It’s stupid. I’ll take it back. Give it back, forget I gave you anything, it’s fine. I’m used to it, shut me out. You did it before, I can take it.)

“You didn’t care for it, as I recall.” [ _When you said you hated it, was it the tea, or myself that you were talking about? I remember you crying._ ]

“Yeah, well, I mean, maybe it’s an acquired taste or whatever, I just needed time to get an…” (Maybe both. You and the tea. It hurt, I came to see you and you were so cold. But I came back...you don’t know how badly you need air until you’re in a vacuum.) “...appreciation for it, yeah?” (Are you going to throw it out? Throw me out?) “Is it alright? I kinda gambled a lot for it.”

[ _Why did you do this? I don’t deserve this._ ]

(You deserve the world.)

“It’s…” [ _A spark, like a glow. Happiness? Perhaps the absence of unhappiness._ ] “...very good, thank you.”

“Cool. So I guess that’s…a goodnight?” (In the movie, this is where you’d kiss me.)

“That’s a goodnight, Newton. You’re quite inebriated.” [ _Stop daydreaming, this isn’t a movie._ ]

“Aw, come on, man! I’m fine! I wrote my third dissertation with more booze than this!” (That’s fair.)

“The details of you being a functional drunk do not concern me, Newton. Thank you, goodnight.” [ _Thank you... thank you. Why do you bother with me?_ ]

(Because, I…)

[ _...don’t finish that. Please._ ]

“I can’t believe you’re standing me up!” [ _I am._  ](You are! Why?) [ _Because we can’t. I can’t. I can’t believe you’re doing this. Besides, you’re drunk. I’d wake up with you drooling on me._ ] (That’s almost like a kiss, though, right?)

[ _Please, just go. It’s easier this way._ ] (For you. Not for me.) [ _For the both of us._ ] “Goodnight, Newton. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

* * *

  
Hermann would never call it telepathy, exactly. He understood, at a low level, the science of drifting. He didn’t anticipate that he would almost hear Newt’s voice in his head after- he knew the man well enough, but he could predict what Newt would say before or while he said it.

Newt could do the same, but that was peppered with knowing looks, something like fondness seeping into the edges of Hermann’s mind. Warm, soft...uninvited. Hermann wanted to hate it, but he couldn’t, and Newt knew that, and even worse, Newt was insufferable with that knowledge.

“Okay, so after everything’s cleaned up, where do you want to find a place? We can, you know, get on with normal life.” A small house, perhaps in the countryside. Wooden trim, lots of flowers, old browning vines creeping up the brick walls. Green fields, a river. Idyllic. Picturesque. Why was Hermann suddenly picturing that? Which of them did that come from? How cliché.

“We didn’t have a normal life. You had yours, Newton, and I had mine.”

Newt turned back to look at him, wiping one glove off with another, removing a thick layer of blue, congealed kaiju blood, blood that clung to them in thick strands like some horrific goo. The plastic shield in front of his face was spattered with blue droplets- his hair stuck out of the headband in all directions- and his thick blue smock was similarly smeared with kaiju blue. Were it not Newt, he’d nearly look like some mad scientist from a horror movie. He raised a finger, speaking with his filthy hands while his breath fogged up the face shield. “See, Hermann, that’s something I don’t get about you. You’re so determined to be miserable. You know that I care about you. And I know that y-”

“Oh, just shut up.” Hermann sunk down into his desk, hoping that he could avoid this entire thing if he just...stayed out of Newt’s line of sight. He grabbed the first manilla folder within reach, opening it in front of his face.

“See! That’s what I mean! I try to be nice to you, and you dig in your heels. You’re so fucking stubborn.”

Hermann frowned at the file, but he could feel his ears going red with embarrassment, his shirt collar making the room feel stuffy. Newt was right, he’d been trying to run away from it, but he couldn’t, anymore, and he hated that fact more than anything else.

“I need some fresh air.” He stood up, throwing aside the folder and letting the papers slide out, skidding across the floor, before grabbing his cane and hurrying from the lab. Haha! Newton couldn’t follow him half-covered in kaiju viscera, he’d never make it out of the science wing. He just needed time, and space...and somehow, he knew that he’d get it, at least for now.

Drifting with Newt was, perhaps, in some ways, a mistake. He didn’t regret that it had won them the knowledge needed to win against the kaiju...but there were other...complications.

Hermann walked toward the railings of the sea wall, leaning against the metal pipes well out of the jaeger drop zone, and he took in a gulp of cool air. Calm yourself, man, this isn’t like you. Or...maybe it was? His sense of self was blurring at the edges a bit. It should be fine in a few days. This was just...mental aftershocks. It would be fine. The residual effects of drifting with Newton and that- that _thing_ \- would fade, and life would go back to normal.

Hermann rested against the railings, his forearms braced against them, and he bowed his head, letting out a shaky breath. It would all be fine. He would be able to leave, go back to teaching, and leave this mess behind him.

_Is that what you call me? This Mess?_ He could almost, almost hear Newt saying it, and laughing. _I mean, it’s not wrong…_

Herman frowned out at the water, muttering curses under his breath. Why did this happen? Why did things have to be so complicated? He wasn’t ready for any of this, but his math was right, and they’d won, and he was staring down an eventuality he hadn’t expected would arrive so soon. Why couldn’t everything had added up to six months, a year, five years from now? He wasn’t ready for this.

He needed more time. He always needed more time. Despite everything, he hadn’t quite been able to figure out how to find more of that.

Hermann smiled, albeit a bit bitterly. He’d hoped for so long that they’d win this war, and they had, and he was being a child about the fact that Newton had gotten past every obstacle and roadblock he’d thrown in his way. Even objectively, he had to think to himself- this was it? You’re so upset because someone knows you care about them?

Perhaps it was the raw, unfiltered vulnerability that had scared him. Hermann was a man who kept many things to himself, and ripping that away from him when he wasn’t ready…

_I know, dude. I didn’t like it, either._ Hermann managed a “hmph” at the idea of how embarrassed Newt must be. Hermann had seen past the bluster and bravado, the pointed jabs and insults, deep into what seemed almost like a well, where Newton- the actuality, not the outward persona - was at the bottom like a man starving for love.

Hermann wasn’t certain he could give him that. He wasn’t certain of a lot of things. He’d seen how enormous that desire was, a childhood knowing that he was a child unwanted, passed off to family, a man with his own troubles who saw in Hermann…

What did he see? Hermann wasn’t certain if he could make sense of it, truthfully. Part of him resented Newton, and he almost wondered if it would just be better for the both of them if he just waited it out, let Newton find someone else to distract himself with… perhaps in a few years Newton would be writing to him about a charming somebody he’d met, about how they were considering being married, and Hermann could absolve himself of the entire mess.

_This Entire Mess._ He could almost hear Newton saying, correcting him.

Hermann bowed his head again, huffing a single, resigned chuckle. This Entire Mess, indeed.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermann lay awake in bed the next night, staring at the wall. He wanted to sleep, he did, but something feverish was tugging at the back of his mind- he couldn’t quite place the discontentment, the source of the restlessness… he sat up in the comfortable dark, frustrated. He had a guess- but was that intuition, or his own general discontentment- making him want to blame everything on Newton? He’d been blaming minor complaints on the man for so long, but now the situation was far more complicated.

He sighed, sliding out of bed, languidly putting on his flannel robe over loose, button-down cotton pajamas, and slipped on his grey leather slippers, lined in well-worn shearling. Hermann muttered to himself as he tied the loose sash at his waist: what are you doing? Why are you letting yourself do this?

He grabbed his cane, not quite certain where he was going, but with a feeling that he’d know when he got there.

* * *

Newt, hair messy from tossing and turning in bed, plain white undershirt and loose gym shorts, turned away from him, illuminated by the nauseating yellow lighting of a specimen tank. Had he always looked like that- pensive, but...almost fragile in a way. Hermann couldn’t exactly explain what it was that he was seeing- maybe it wasn’t anything physical at all. There was something delicate, if not in the construction of Newt, but the way he held himself.

“It’s weird, I spent so many years on this and...I mean, it’s over, right? Which is good. But...it’s over. I won’t get any more specimens to study. It’s weird, just, realizing that.” Newt turned back to Hermann, apologetic and troubled. “Sorry, I probably...you couldn’t sleep…”

“It’s fine.” Hermann shuffled over to stand at his desk- the legs of his pajamas dragging on the floor, cane clattering against the desk as he rested the handle against the edge. He leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest and watching Newt.

Newt wasn’t looking at him- he was sitting in front of that tank and he almost reverently touched a hand to the glass...like a child looking into an aquarium, or, sadder, he realized- some kind of zookeeper looking at an endling they know cannot- and should not- be saved.

Newt didn’t care to verbalize it, but that was the truth he saw, and the certainty that was clear to Hermann. There would always be more math- more numbers, more pieces of the universe to solve.

There would never be more kaiju. The only way there would be were if things went horribly wrong for humanity.

Newton had crafted a life around these creatures- studied them, cared for them in a way that Hermann could only vaguely understand...and that small understanding was only because they had drifted. And now, Newton, in his undershirt and shorts, hair unkempt, barefoot, pressing a hand against the glass of a tank that illuminated him in oily yellow light, had to accept that he would have to watch as that life slowly died, reduced to formalin-bleached tissue that would eventually deteriorate and decompose.

He could see it, clearly as if the memory was his own- a glass jar, white metal lid rusting around the lip...holding the jar up to the light, to see the brain inside, turned to a solid mass of waxy fat, pia mater and small fragments of the cerebellum that had come loose sloshing gently as he- no, Newt- held it up to the window in his secondary school’s science lab.

“Yeah, you can preserve them but...eventually they fall apart. If something’s dead, it decomposes. That’s just how it is. Older, preserved specimens aren’t that great for study, anyway, you lose a lot of the really vital material after a while.” Newt was still staring up at the tank- whatever organ was inside pulsing gently, a screen nearby tracking the temperature and movements inside the tank, and monitoring the release of chemicals into it.

Hermann wanted to say something, but as usual, in a situation where he felt that perhaps cold logic couldn’t help… he said nothing.

“Hermann, c’mere.” Newt scooted over, making space next to the tank.

Hermann...didn’t care for the idea of being closer to one of those things than necessary. The distance here was much more comfortable than having to sit right near it. He’d been inside that thing’s brain…

...but Newt was there, and in some way, though he wasn’t certain how, he knew that Newt needed him. He finally relented, grabbing his cane and limping over to sit down next to Newt. In profile, in the light, there was something about him that seemed both awestruck and fragile, and maybe even beautiful in some odd way- perhaps there always had been and Hermann had been simply too stubborn to admit that to even himself.

Hermann looked away from Newt, swallowing nervously. His face squirmed uncomfortably- an eye twitching, mouth trying to rest but pulling uncomfortably- as he looked at the tank. He knew, looking at it this close, that this was a piece of liver, and somehow he also knew where the veins and arteries sat, how the organ would have looked under a microscope, could see the tissue itself being grown… knowledge he never asked for, never wanted to know, but there it was.

“Listen, I know...uhh. Things are weird right now. I’m in a weird place. I think you are too.” Newt looked over at Hermann, squinting, his mouth open and lip raised, that same almost confused expression he had when searching for something. “But I was thinking, like, I mean it. When all this is over. We should...”

Hermann blinked at him, frowned, and then looked away. “Newton, I…”

“No, I know, alright? I get it. Like...shit’s confusing now, I think, for both of us. I have to figure out what the fuck to do with myself. I mean, like...the kaiju are _gone_ , Hermann. That was my _life_. You’re always gonna have numbers, but we’re not gonna have any more of those awesome monsters.”

Hermann managed to look over at him, and in spite of himself, he noticed an almost uncharacteristic restraint in Newt. Perhaps in the ways that Hermann had changed, Newt had, as well, in small ways. Certainly two weeks ago, a month ago, Newton would have taken the knowledge that, in some way Hermann cared about him, and immediately leapt to badgering him about it.

But this was an almost uncharacteristic caution...a prudence that Hermann wasn’t certain was always there, or if that was a part of himself that Newton would keep with him.

To Hermann, the words “I think” from Newton, not meant to make a sarcastic point, to start an argument, were maybe a sign of that. He wasn’t the only one grappling with a blurring of his sense of self, struggling to take these drift-begotten things that were half given and half borrowed and wonder where to keep them.

Hermann blinked, looking over at Newt cautiously, and Newt smiled over at him, almost bittersweet, but honest. “What do you say, dude? After all this shit’s packed up and I figure out what to do with the rest of my life, we can sit down and figure out... _this_.” He gestured with his hands, back and forth, to the space between the two of them.

Something completely unlike Hermann wanted to close that distance, and that small impulse made him smile this time. He nodded. “Hmm. Very well, then. I suppose I do still owe you algebra lessons, regardless.”

Newt blinked at him, and then...laughed- honest, deep in his belly, full of mirth. Hermann leaned against the tank, chuckling, a fair bit more restrained than Newt, but as meaningful if less expressive.

Newt’s laughter slowed, then stopped, and he leaned against the tank with a contented sigh, mirroring Hermann. His glasses rested crooked on his face, though less from being recently-damaged and more from the awkward angle, and Hermann could still make out the places where, were it not for the yellow light, Newt’s skin would be bright pink and healing from his misadventures in the final days of the war.

Leaning against the tank, in their bedclothes, for a moment they were two boys they’d never quite had the chance to be. Maybe 20 years ago they’d have gossiped about schoolmates they fancied, colleges they’d hoped to get accepted to. ...but now they were simply two war-weary grown men trying to figure out their future, and instead of a bed, they were resting against a tank containing a pulsing section of liver.

The two of them rested there for a few very long, but almost precious, seconds. It was a memory that Hermann would treasure in the following years, though at the time he couldn’t have understood how bittersweet that memory would become.

Newt took off his glasses, wiping at his teary eyes. “Damn, dude. I forgot about that shit. You know I took like six semesters of statistics, right? Like…”

Hermann nodded softly, still leaning against the tank (he noted, distantly, with a bit of surprise, despite his disgust of the _thing_ inside). “Yes, I’m...well aware of that, Newton. Perhaps we’ll have to drift again...I need to get better at telling jokes.” The suggestion was gentle, but he felt his neck go hot, wondering if perhaps he’d said too much, or overstepped...

Newt blinked, surprised, his face quickly softening into a gentle, genuinely fond smile. He nodded, not bothering the space between them, but not looking away from Hermann, either. “Yeah, maybe we’ll have to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	9. Chapter 9

> “Newton!”
> 
> Panic, blurring through on both sides. [ _You fucking idiot._ ]
> 
> “Newton! What have you done?”
> 
> (I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to happen like this.)
> 
> The feeling of hands digging into Herman’s sleeves, both Hermann’s arms and Newt’s hands, both sensations at the same time. A haze, fear. ([I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.])
> 
> ([ _Please don’t let me go._ ]) Hands, desperate, tangling in Hermann’s clothes, thinner but still strong arms, holding Newt close. ([Stay with me. Don’t leave me.])
> 
> [( _Please don’t leave me._ )]

* * *

“Hermann!  There you are.” Tendo ambled up behind Hermann, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers- the legs were far too big for him, held up with suspenders, a long pocket chain swinging next to his leg as he walked. Hermann had, like most in the PPDC, heard the rumor that Tendo Choi had been involved in organized crime at some point...a rumor that seemed highly unlikely until Tendo ambled around like a gangster from a classic Hollywood movie. In these moments he was a man whose youth was misspent on California streets and whose zoot suit was a deliberate insult to careful rationing of excesses. Hermann wasn’t certain if they came back into style recently, or if it was simply a cultural touchpoint for the man with a meticulously-groomed pompadour.

Tendo Choi, the director of J-Tech, the careful hand that was like family to everyone under his watchful eye...at times that man blurred oddly with the rumors of his murky past. Not the big boss, no, but one of the steady, even-tempered men who worked under him. A fixer.

Not that Hermann disliked it, exactly, he could understand why a man might turn away from that life, use the skills he developed from calmly handling high-stakes situations, contacts he might have made, a knack for quick thinking under fire...really, that sort of man was ideal for the PPDC, as they were.

Perhaps that’s what it took to win the war. A bunch of misfits and rebels.

Tendo raised his brows. “So...we having fun yet?”

“Ah!” Hermann blinked, looking away from Tendo, realizing he was distracted for a moment by the prospect of the pocket chain being a fashionable sort of improvised weapon. He turned to look back over the railings, out at the jaeger bays...what would have been full of people and small carts going to and fro was decidedly more deserted. Everyone at the Shatterdome was given a month of leave, at Tendo and Ranger Mori’s behest. “No, I don’t think we are...it’s remarkably quiet down there.”

“Mako and Raleigh split for England- the Marshall’s memorial service. Jake might even make it. Herc headed out to one, too… I’m here to hold down the fort and get together the final discharge orders.”

“Discharge orders?” Hermann had been listening, distantly, looking at what was left- scraps and half-completed machines, but at that he turned back to Tendo.

Tendo nodded, pulling a toothpick from his mouth, propping one foot against a lower rung of the railings and leaning against the top rail. “Yeah. We ended the war...not much need for everyone here. I get to write a big report about which personnel are essential to operations, secure funding for the skeleton crew, figure out where to classify staff for payouts...we didn’t have much, but some folks are feelin’ awfully generous after we saved the world.” Tendo smiled and it wasn’t exactly bitter, despite it all. “Would have been nice three months ago, but...beggars can’t be choosers.”

Hermann turned to face Tendo, resting both hands on the top of his cane. The words almost spilled out of his mouth before he’d given them very much thought...though it was perhaps still more thought than most normally gave. “A skeleton crew?”

Tendo put the toothpick back in his mouth, the round dowel rolling between his lips as he spoke around it. “Yep. We need enough personnel to monitor the breach, or...maybe not us, but to figure out who can do it. Looks like we also need PPDC personnel to help out with the private firms.” Tendo made a face, annoyed. “Hope we can get enough of a kickback for staffing. We do the heavy lifting, and then some venture capitalists get to dive in and turn a profit. Ain’t that just how it goes?”

Hermann pursed his lips, almost frowning but not quite. “Have you decided which staff positions are necessary for essential operations?” He realized too late, from a sharp paint in his right hip, that he was standing stiffly, tension in his entire body.

“Not yet.” Tendo took the toothpick out of his mouth, pointing it in Hermann’s direction. “But, if a certain K-Sci staffer wanted to hang around, he should tell me sooner rather than later...and if he was gonna have a plus one I need to accomodate for.”

Hermann felt something like a shiver creep up his spine, and he nearly saluted, out of habit when faced with a commanding officer and an opportunity he didn’t quite know how to express he was thankful for. He registered, thankfully, that this was Tendo Choi, who give less than a rat’s ass about military protocol, and instead gave him a deep nod of his head. “Sir.”

“And let me know if you need anything else, alright? Even if you find a cushy tenured job or something, if you need someone to pull some strings for getting back to Europe...a reference, or anything, just let me know and I’ll get it taken care of.”

Hermann nodded, almost excited at the possibility of staying here, letting what he would in time see as halcyon days, with Newt, and living out their lives as they had been for the past few months. They could stay like this- here, together.

Perhaps that was just like him- wanting to stay in one place, loath to move. Comfortable in constancy...and, he supposed, complacency, and inertia.

Tendo was used to Hermann retreating into his thoughts, and was gesturing to no one with his fingers, making tally marks in the air, counting off his own work. Hermann finally did nod at him, when he decided what he wanted to do.

It was never easy, that. What he wanted and what he considered the most logical course of action were, at times, two completely contradictory things. Those that knew him might have doubted it, but for all his coldness, Hermann was a man like any other. He was only human, and he knew his own protests against soft things like caring and wanting and desire, the arguments that he cared not for those things, were toothless.

The truth was that Hermann did want, he did see beauty in things, and despite an often dispassionate exterior, he felt things, deeply. He cared, deeply...but rarely did he deem it logical to act on that, even for a moment.

So perhaps it _wasn’t_ like him to nod at Tendo and then hurry back to the lab, leaning heavily on his cane. Perhaps it wasn’t him at all who wanted to propose to Newt that they stay.

Or, he was starting to accept...perhaps it _was_ him. A newer, slightly different him, who wasn’t exactly the same as Newt but wasn’t exactly the same as he himself had been. After all, it wasn’t that he didn’t want to do things, or hated them...it was simply far from comfortable for him to act on those wants. Instead, Hermann dug in his heels and stubbornly refused, because it was comfortable, familiar.

But now...just a bit of Newt’s devil-may-care seemed to stick to him in a way he didn’t entirely hate. Just enough to make him do things like rush down the hall and enter the lab, his cane and shoes tapping in a steady beat.  His voice echoed off of the plain metal walls.

“Newton!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last week i spent two days in another state it feels like a fever dream but I'm BACK BAYBEE
> 
> ty everyone for the comments and the kudos and yes there will be some Suffering(tm) because I am going to expand this into post-Uprising canon but I promise you they will, eventually, get their happily ever after. It's just gonna take some time to get there first.


	10. Chapter 10

“Oh, uh! Hey, Hermann.” Newt’s voice greeted him from somewhere in the lab, the man himself wiggled out from behind a specimen tank, grunting as he squeezed between the tank and the wall. He finally extracted himself from the corner, landing heavily on a solid-heeled wingtip shoe, his first steps before getting his balance clattering and tapping against the solid metal floor.

He wiped his hands off on the thighs of his grease-stained jeans. “What’s up?”

“I…” Hermann blinked a few times, uncertain if he should continue...or if he’d seem foolish to even ask.

Newt walked over, stopping and turning on his heel to stand on Herman’s left, tilting his head to look up at him. “Come on, use your words.”

Hermann blinked, looking away from Newt, flustered at the sudden closeness. He knew the flush of red on his neck and ears was apparent, thanks to his overall indoorsy pallor, and forced himself to look back down at Newton. He was certain that he was regarding Newt as one might regard a small vermin that stood up and was speaking to him...though it wasn’t from annoyance or distaste as it once might have been, simply accidentally apparent unease.

Newt gently bumped Hermann’s arm. “What is it?”

“I was just speaking with Tendo.” Hermann nearly frowned- the way he pulled one side of his mouth when thinking about something challenging. “He mentioned that…” Every word felt like he was having to forcibly drag it out of himself. What was it that made mentioning the idea of them staying together, here, so difficult?

Perhaps it was because it mattered. It did, to Hermann, at least, it mattered a great deal. A man who was wont to talk about things he held close to his heart- when he cared about something, unless it was a purely objective thing he cared about, like math, and numbers, and space, and all the great and wondrous and beautiful things that made up the fabric of the universe…

...but if it was something more personal, meaningful, Hermann may never mention it at all. That was simply his way of things. He’d like many opportunities, friendships, potential love, die simply by way of silence.

Newt finally smiled at him, reaching out...cautiously, almost, hesitantly, until the backs of their hands were touching. Hermann took in a sharp breath, resisting the urge to pull away, to give Newt a look of one part offense and one part surprise. His throat tightened, and he almost forgot to breathe out.

Newt must have sensed this, somehow, despite the lingering aftereffects of the drift already fading, and he looked away, smiling to himself, his face and ears pink when Hermann snuck a glance at him before, also, resolutely looking away.

How foolish they were- two grown men acting like they were young again. Perhaps it was inexperience on Hermann’s part, and perhaps that’s simply how Newton was. It wasn’t a fault, exactly, but for all of Hermann that acted much older than he was, Newt was the opposite- youthful in spirit in a way that Hermann, at times, resented.

They finally looked back at each other, and Newt smiled, chuckling softly, emboldened by not being outright rejected. He moved his hand, grabbing Hermann’s and slipping his fingers- warm, sure of what they were doing- between Hermann’s- cold, slightly clammy, stiff and hesitant.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter. I can tell you have something important on your mind.” When Newt cared to take the bombast and bluster out of his voice, he could be kind, almost gentle, even, mindful and sensitive in a way that was both comforting and uncomfortable for Hermann.

Hermann nodded softly. Newt was right, though he had to mentally chastise himself- this was a man he’d shared a brain with (well, Newton and one of the kaiju, but he was certain that was just splitting hairs and he’d much rather not think about that matter), and he was balking at small, familiar, innocent contact like letting Newt guide him by the hand out of the lab.

He hadn’t done this before, not exactly. Hermann was, of course, a man in his mid-thirties, he’d had trysts inside dorm halls and where a moment could be stolen, feverish kisses with other men, both desperate for something, his inexperience, his unease, was more due to the fact that they were always just that- trysts.

Moments stolen, and perhaps their eyes would meet again a few weeks later in a lecture or library- both of them married to their first love, their studies. Relationships, the real and lasting kind, took a terrible amount of work that Hermann quite simply never had the time for. Emotions and love, as well, were luxuries he could not afford.

And so here he was, walking after Newt, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, because he was floundering and uncertain. The two of them had circled each other for so many years, but they were always too busy, too far apart...and then when they had finally met, too close, too overwhelming. Even here, before the ending of the kaiju war, there was simply no time to consider...whatever this was, whatever it could potentially be.

Now the future lay before them, and Hermann had to confront the facts: he cared for Newt, and Newt cared for him. But where he was like a man walking uneven on a tightrope when it came to relationships- real relationships, not brief loose affiliations to take nerves off during graduate studies- Newt, he knew, he’d seen, that Newt was like a man in the desert, crawling to love like it was water. He was hungry, desperate for it, and he knew, somehow, that Newt was the type of man who knew the moment he felt for someone that the person- woman, man, neither- he was certain this was his true love.

Perhaps it was folly, but Hermann couldn’t fault it, not exactly. It was simply Newt- the man needed love because he, himself, loved deeply. Each relationship, if stormy and intense, was meant just as deeply for Newt. He was ever-hopeful, an idealist in the most honest sense when he approached the idea of caring for someone, and his heart had never seemed to deeply suffer for it. In some way, perhaps Newt had rationalized that perhaps if someone wasn’t his soulmate, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have something real, albeit brief.

Hermann was married to his work, and so was Newt, in a way, but now Hermann had to consider that he’d seen that numbers were not the only important force in the universe.

It took much more than science to save them, to save himself.

His hand, still a bit clammy from nerves, twitched, squeezing Newt’s. Newt didn’t look back, but he squeezed Hermann’s hand in return. Despite leading him to “somewhere quieter”, Newt didn’t pull him along, or drag him, or make him stumble...he seemed to know how fast to walk, how much weight to expect to help Hermann balance.

Newt looked back at him, grinning, glasses askew on his face, and Hermann’s throat tightened, though he wasn’t quite sure what from.

They weaved through passages and hallways just large enough for a cart to fit through, back into now-unused parts of the Shatterdome- years ago, these corridors would have been brighter, busier, but now…

“Watch your step!” Newt’s voice echoed off of the concrete walls, the lights around them had gone from clear and bright to the sickly energy-saving green, occasionally flickering around them. He couldn’t tell who caused each splish of someone stepping into a small puddle, but it didn’t matter, really, after a few minutes. Hermann felt his socks clinging to his ankles, damp, water threatening to intrude into his shoes.

“Newton!” Their hands still clasped, but Hermann’s grip was turning into white-knuckle desperation, and though he’d never had a sense of claustrophobia, exactly, he did have a healthy fear of dark, unused concrete passages, wet socks, and the fact that if either of them were to be hurt, it would take some time for them to be found. “Where are you taking me?” He couldn’t control the edge of annoyance and indignation from creeping in.

“Hold on, we’re almost...Here!” Newt veered to one side, tapping at a panel in front of a door, dropping Hermann’s hand.

Hermann tugged at his jacket, fussily fixing himself, and grimaced. “When you said we could go somewhere quieter, you didn’t have to drag me halfway to Shanghai, Newton. I fail to see why this was necessary at all.”

Newt, back turned to him, was waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know, just…” The console beeped. “I’d have had it open sooner if someone wasn’t nagging me.”

“I was not nagging you.” Hermann tapped his cane as he said it, to make a point. “You were taking something to an extreme, as per usua-”

The door slowly slid open as he spoke, with a hydraulic hissing, Hermann cutting himself off as he peeked into the room.

“This is where I come to practice!” Newt stepped into the room, waving Hermann in. A few chairs scattered around, wheeled mechanic stools like Newt used in the lab, an old, threadbare and fading carpet Hermann supposed was (at one point in its long life) red, a small amp…

And piles of what Hermann could only call garbage. Garbage in metal bins with wheels on them, hoses and old jaeger spare parts and materials… Hermann’s stomach twisted when he remembered.

_“Newton created a neural bridge from garbage and drifted with a kaiju!”_

This was the horrid little weasel’s cache, as it were. Newt smiled, settling down on one of the chairs. “Okay, so, what’s up?”

“Er…” Hermann turned, unnerved, looking at the piles of scrap and things that had been carelessly discarded, finally turning back to Newt, sitting in the middle of it, clearly comfortable, relaxed, as if he were home. “I spoke with Tendo Choi...he mentioned that...should I feel it necessary, I could request a permanent place here for myself.”

Newt looked hopeful at first, before a bittersweet realization passed over his face. This words were quick but forced, his voice tight. “That’s great, Hermann, I-”

“I wasn’t finished.” Hermann waved a hand, cutting him off. “I paused to collect my thoughts. Not all of us babble without giving it a first thought.”

Despite the chastisement, Newt nodded, hopeful. “Alright.” He mimed zipping his lips and wiggled his fingers at Hermann.

“Thank you.” Hermann frowned, rolling the words about, mentally, and finally nodded. “I was told, as well, that...funding will very likely be limited. There will be no fame nor very much money at all. When the Shatterdome is changed to accommodate private enterprise personnel, we may only see slightly better food and better living quarters. However, that said, I was told that...should I wish to request a permanent position here, Tendo Choi would try his best to honor it. And…” Hermann frowned, trying to think of how best to say it. “...it would be easiest to request two senior science personnel at once, as a…”

“...a set.” Newt interrupted him, finishing his thought without using the exact words that Hermann would have. “So we need to make a decision, huh?”

Hermann nodded softly. “That we do.”

Newt brought a hand to his mouth, nodding. “Let me...I should talk to Tendo, too.”

Hermann inclined his head. “If you feel it prudent. But...I should like to know your decision...myself, as well.”

Newt nodded. “Alright, dude, I’ll let you know.” Kicking those ridiculous wingtips, he rolled across the carpet and onto the concrete flooring, back a few feet to grab an acoustic guitar to rest against his thigh. “Any other requests, my main man?”

Hermann, despite himself, huffed a dry chuckle. “I don’t suppose you know anything that isn’t entirely tasteless?”

“I might.” Newt replied, distracted, strumming to check the tuning. “Have a seat. Just don’t ever ask me to play classical, alright?”

Hermann settled into an old chair, wood and wicker protesting as he did, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve quite had my fill of that...twelve years of piano in attempts to instill an appreciation for the arts only left me with quite the grudge against Beethoven and Chopin.”

Newt laughed, wheezing. “What do you like, then? Experimental electronic dronewave or something really pretentious?”

Hermann smiled teasingly, tapping his cane like wagging a finger at Newt. “Shut up and play some jazz, you insufferable brat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay so i definitely accidentally clicked "post without preview" how yall doing
> 
> sorry this update took like 45 years but in my defense this chapter is over 2000 words so work with me here
> 
> thanks for the comments too and also you're all probably gonna hate me in like [looks at wrist] 5 or so chapters but trust me it will be worth it I promise


	11. [Act 2 Interlude]

Had everything been so idyllic- Newt dragging Hermann off on misadventures, Hermann slowly learning to embrace those parts of himself that he’d long buried, now stirred up like sediment. After all, when he was younger, a part of him that wanted to be a pilot...and all pilots had at least an ounce of daring in their hearts, at some point.

He was barely a teenager when he understood he was destined for a life on the land, staring up at the heavens trying to make sense of it all, and when he realized that, he put aside his adventuring, turning his eyes to the cold, reassuring comfort of logic. Perhaps Hermann had simply buried it, smothered it when he realized that dream was never going to happen.

Perhaps this daring was borrowed from Newt, whole cloth.

Perhaps it was six of one, and half a dozen of another.

Maybe Hermann would never know, but he was growing comfortable with this. It would take time to break past the limitations he had placed on himself- the idea that concrete rules, solid barriers around what was and wasn’t appropriate for him to feel, to show, but that was the start.

He was a work in progress, and despite it all, he had Newt to thank for that.

 

* * *

 

The week following the discussion with Tendo, the nightmares began. Hermann could never remember the precise details, but there was always a similar pattern.

 

> He is falling, garbled voices as he plummets, the sinking feeling in his stomach is always so vivid. He hits a barrier, like a soft net, almost, and that gives, and he falls further.
> 
> Almost like a bubble.
> 
> He falls further but he feels something there that shouldn’t be there- like he’s falling through water, afraid of something...when they started he wasn’t sure what he was afraid of, but as the years stretched on, he knew.
> 
> Those glowing blue dots in the dark- bright spots against the darkness. Eyes, in arrangements that were not of this world.
> 
> Watching him. Waiting. Swarming around him.
> 
> He can’t breathe- Hermann claws at his throat, he tries to scream but it’s like he’s under water. Air escapes and then silence. Every moment he tries to scream he’s only drowning and he can’t breathe, those eyes are watching him, watching him dying, and he wants to call out for help- for Newt, though he’s not sure why it’s Newt that he wants to call for-
> 
> And then he wakes up, gasping for air, soaked in cold sweat and shaking.

 

Hermann wipes his nose with a shaky hand, uncertain if he’s been crying in his sleep...and sometimes the back on his hand is streaked with bright red blood.

 

* * *

 

The next week saw Newt increasingly evasive, fussing with his samples, unnaturally fretful. Hermann worried over paperwork- accounting consultations, staff release paperwork… shortly after the end of the kaiju war, he and Newt went from de facto K-Science officers to the heads (or "head" as it were, considering the drifting) of the division.

Newt was, of course, more than happy to let Hermann fuss was the current paperwork piling high on his desk- even at the best of times he was accustomed to dictation to pass on to a junior office or underclassman. Newton found paperwork dull, mind-numbing even, while Hermann found some odd sense of fulfillment in completing something necessary, no matter how small. Dossiers, field reports, research that needed to be signed off on before it could be filed… requests for letters of recommendation from junior staff vying for competitive graduate school or private sector work. The final letter he wrote for the staff, two weeks later, was the hardest one he’d ever been asked to do.

Hermann was dispassionate, objective in his letters and remarks, ideal for work in the sciences. His words were careful, each letter planned out with a list of strengths of each former PPDC scientist, weaknesses as well, but how be believed they could still succeed.

He was too busy...or perhaps that was simply the excuse he told himself. There was no way he could have noticed the halcyon days were ending, and life was simply going to carry on, as it always did.

Perhaps that was rationalizing it. In the years to follow, Hermann would be confused, and then angry, and any other number of emotions.

Until, finally, eleven years later...he was sad. Regretful, deeply frustrated for missing that Newton scrambling about in the background of those last few weeks was _not_ simply a man trying to save his life’s work. That was _not_ a scientist who wanted to make sure his samples survived.

Those days marked the ending of Newton Geiszler as he knew it, and the beginning of something he wasn’t certain who- or what- it was.

He had theories in the following years he attributed Newt’s distance, perhaps, to the events that marked their last new days before parting. That maybe if he had said something different, _said anything, really_ , that Newt would have perhaps stayed.

It took him more years, and another war to realize that it was far more than that. It wasn’t a drifting apart, it was them being pushed apart.

But, at the time, Hermann didn’t have the data he needed to reach that conclusion. Instead, as he always did, he blamed himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay here and the shorter chapter! I needed a smaller one to set-up for the rest of the pre-PRU section of the fic, but I wasn't certain how to format it. Heavy foreshadowing vignettes it was!
> 
> Just a bit left to go to close out this section and move on to the main event- post-PRU! Thank you all for hanging in there thus far.


	12. Chapter 12

The third nightmare, Hermann actually stumbled from bed after waking up, bleeding from his nose and shaking- not even a cane under him helped to keep his knees from buckling as he stumbled across the hall, pounding on Newt’s door.

His voice was hushed, but pained, and finally he stopped nervously tapping with his hand- his knuckles sore after the third knock against metal, and he leaned against the doorway to hold his cane up and rap the rubber ferrule at the end. He could already feel the edges of the nightmare fading, the sheet metal doorway cold and solid, reassuring.

Hermann tapped. One, one two, one, one two, he couldn’t remember which waltz it was, but it didn’t matter, his heart was slowing as he was starting to consider that perhaps Newt was dead asleep, with earphones in...or simply didn’t wish to be disturbed.

He stopped tapping, turning to shuffle back to his room, halted by a muffled “Hold on a second!” from inside the room. Hermann glowered at the door, half-frowning in both relief that Newt was awake and annoyance that he was being asked to wait.

The door opened, Newt peeking just his head outside, glasses crooked. “Hey, Hermann.”

“Newton, are you...not decent? I need to talk to y-”

Newt sniffed, wetly, trying to clear his nose, and Hermann stopped mid-thought, his stomach churning at the idea of a gob of snot. “Uhh, no, no, I’m good, dude. But, uhhh...I’m just going through some stuff, and my room’s a huge mess. Nowhere to sit. Let’s go back to your room?”

“Uhm…” Hermann stepped back, caught off-guard, and Newt squeezed out of the door, locking it behind him.

“Sorry, got something in progress. I’ll show you when it’s done, promise.”

Hermann limped across the hall after Newt, who almost darted to Hermann’s room. Hermann waved at him to open the door and go in.

Newt slipped into Hermann’s room, settling down with the usual over familiarity on Hermann’s bed. “So...what’s up?” One shoulder of his well-worn tank top slid down his arm- the print on the front from a benefit concert for a small city in Mexico, back in the years that trying to raise kaiju recovery funds for every small city seemed altruistic, and even feasible, and note the Sisyphean effort it would become, even the most charitable hearts exhausted after it seemed there was no end to it.

Hermann reached out to fix Newt’s shirt, but his hand froze in the air a few inches from Newt’s arm. It was too familiar, he was certain, and despite their growing closeness, and the fact that more than anything he wanted to reach out and touch him, trace the lines of those obnoxious tattoos…

...Hermann lowered his hand, and Newt smiled at him, a little sadly, fixing his shirt, knowing it was bothering Hermann. Everything had to be Just So with him. “No, really, what is it?”

“Er...well...I suppose it sounds a bit foolish, but…” Hermann settled on the bed, leaning against pillows and leaving a full foot of space between them. “I’ve been having dreams, of late.”

Newt made a face, a quick remark on his tongue, but a look from Hermann stopped him before he said anything.

“Nightmares, really. The...er. P-pr...the Pre...” Hermann’s eyes were screwed shut, trying to spit the word out as best he could.

“Precursors?” Newt looked at Hermann, then down, as if processing that statement. His eyes unfocused in the middle distance, Newt rubbed at his face, sniffing.

Hermann breathed a sigh of relief before something like dread creeped in. “Are you?”

Newt’s attention turned back to him, and he blinked, looking away, and then nodding. “Yeah.”

“Ah. Hmm.” Hermann frowed, looking down. Had Newt’s hands always been that restless? Perhaps that was why he prefered rings and jewelry and little things to fidget with. Hermann frowned, reaching out and patting Newt’s worrying hands to keep him from picking at himself.

Newt looked up at him, blinking owlishly, but his hands were still under Hermann’s. He looked down, smiling softly. “Uhh. Maybe it’s just...I mean no one’s drifted with a kaiju before, right? And...you saw what they went through. I think we got its memories but like...it’s too much for us to really process.”

“So the nightmares are, in a sense, the human brain trying to process inhuman memories.” Hermann pulled back, letting only the tips of his fingers run along Newt’s . He wanted to linger, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not now. The moment, however brief, had worn away the sharp panic Hermann had felt, and left only the bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to punctuate every moment of the past few years.

“Yeah. It mean, it’s not an airtight theory, but…”

“Hmm.” Hermann nodded softly, leaning back against the pillows with a yawn. “I suppose that makes sense. I wonder if I ought to mention it t-”

“No.” Newt cut him off, not quite a shout, but with quiet intensity, looking down and then over at Hermann, concern on his face. “No, Hermann, just...listen to me. I’m sure it’ll be fine...we just have to wait. If we tell them, we might not be able to stay. I don’t need them dragging me in to the shrinks again. I’m already on thin ice, dude.” He leaned over, patting at Hermann, who was already feeling sleep creeping into the edge of his consciousness. “Hermann! Promise me. Don’t tell anyone...please.”

Hermann sputtered, yawning. “Yes, yes, don’t hit me, you dreadful menace. You have my-” He yawned. “-confidence in this.”

Newt smiled, softly, the kind of face he made when there was something that meant a lot to him- not the sarcastic, carefully-posed smirk. “You know, dude…”

Hermann raised his brows, peering at Newt.

“You’re probably the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Hermann took in a deep breath, like one might when offended, though not exactly mad. Upset in the sense that Newt was always good at tearing down his carefully-crafted barriers, upset like one might upset sediment in a sample by shaking the bottle. He inched back further into the pillows, glowering at Newt.

“No, don’t- don’t give me that look! I mean it. Listen…” Newt yawned, rubbing his face. “I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.”

Hermann frowned, sighing. “You are mine, as well, Newton.”

Newt looked over, making a choked, surprised sound.

“Oh, come off it.” Hermann grumbled at him. “You know yourself that I make no habit of endearing myself to people.”

Newt snorted. “Yeah, you can say that fucking twice.”

“You’re hardly better.”

“What do you mean?” Newt sat up, glaring at Hermann, pushing his glasses up his face. “I’m super nice and friendly. And fun!”

“That’s not the same.” Hermann waved a hand dismissively. “Newton, you’re the opposite. I suppose I do too little…”

“...and I do too much.” Newt nodded, looking away. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

Hermann settled back, folding his spidery hands across his stomach.

“You didn’t have to say it like that, dude. Damn.” Newt rubbed at the back of his neck, fussing with his hair.

Hermann looked down at his hands. “I’m sorry. I can be a bit…”

“Of an asshole.”

Hermann...laughed. An honest, deep laugh, not mocking. “Yes...you are right there. I’ve been called that a fair bit.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Newt laughed, and then reached over, suddenly, resting a hand over Hermann’s. “It’s alright, though. I still like you.” Punctuated with a smile and a wink before he pulled that hand back.

“I will be sending in another complaint to the personnel department for this-” Hermann yawned. He would have covered his mouth- he always did- but Newt’s hand was warm, oddly comforting, and even this chit-chatting was soothing. The nightmare had already faded. “-blatant harassment.”

Odd that he could find himself so comfortable in someone’s company that he might even find it soothing, relaxing. Hermann stretched, his shoulders and something in his chest that he knew shouldn’t popping back into place. “Ugh.”

“You can report me. Again. I think there’s a filter for your messages by this point: right into the trash, dude.” Newt looked up, thinking, smiling softly.

“Hmm.” Hermann yawned again, murmuring to himself. “Perhaps it’s for the best.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Newt squinted over at him.

Hermann peered at him, eyes half closed, pursing his lips. “I need to go back to sleep now, Newton.”

“So that’s...it? You drag me over here and then kick me out?”

Hermann closed his eyes, pulling a face. “I said I’m going to sleep.”

As with everything, what Hermann didn’t say carried as much weight- or more, than what he did. His eyes closed, but he felt his heart beating against his chest with such force that he was certain his shirt must be moving. Part of him did want to tell Newt to go, but another, louder part, wanted him to stay. Forever. Though he doubted he would voice that. ...in retrospect, he should have.

“Huh.” He could hear Newt making a noise, sucking at the inside of his mouth as he did when thinking too hard about something cut off by a sudden, deep yawn. Newt stood, his weight leaving the bed, and Hermann’s stomach tightened. It was foolish, wasn’t it, to think that Newt might want his company, for whatever it was. He didn’t have sex on him mind at this point, (perhaps some other time, he thought, pragmatically), but it was the companionship...the closer, more quiet intimacy that made Hermann feel like he was stepping onto a frozen lake, and one false step could mean disaster...with him none the wiser as he took that step.

Newt stoof but….walked away from the door. Something light, hard plastic, tapped against Herman’’s nightstand.

Ah, his glasses.

Newt stepped back to the small bed and did what Hermann could only describe as a heavy flop, inching up the bed and laying on his side. Hermann, too tired to force himself to make a show of protest, shoved a pillow toward Newt and lifted the blanket to tiredly throw it in his direction.

“If you wake me, you’ll be kicked out.” He muttered, uncertain if it was aloud.

“Just don’t put your cold feet on me and we’ll be fine.” Newt was already burying his face against the pillow, tugging the blanket over himself in a haphazard way that made Hermann wish he was less tired, he wanted to fuss over it.

In the end, the gesture was small. Newt was curled on his side a little ways down the bed from him...the idea that he could be relaxed enough in someone’s company to sleep was a marvel in and of itself. Hermann reached out as he drifted off to sleep, running his hand over Newt’s hair, the other man taking in a sharp gasp of air and pulling the pillow closer, almost folding in on himself.

Hermann was half asleep and past the point of overthinking it- he might have pulled his hand away and thought himself a fool for it. Instead, the next day, he runimated on it...and that perhaps Newt was as unfamiliar with receiving honest, gentle affection as he was with showing it.

The idea they might both need to work on that was sobering...but the idea that they _could_...that was exciting, in an odd way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I AM HERE STILL. Life is busy forever...Pride is coming up and then I'm moving right after that, so I have packed weekends for the next month but hopefully I can get another chapter done over the next week or two. Slow updates don't mean I've dropped it, just that I' don't have much time and would rather write something passably decent instead of forcing a chapter when I'm tired and can't word words good
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos btw. I try to reply when I have something insightful to say but then sometimes I also forget and worry that maybe it's too late to reply and then a few days go by and oh goodness I still don't know what to say is thank you too much of a throwaway comment am I overthinking this whole thing oh no
> 
> Anyway enjoy the bed sharing. :3c They're getting more comfortable and familiar with each other...


End file.
